


A String of Moments

by bluehawthorn



Series: Lessons in Kingship [5]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: A tiny bit of Kiliel, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst and Feels, Battle of Five Armies, Canon Divergence, Caring Thranduil, Dwarf/Elf Relationship(s), Erebor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mirkwood, Outdoor Sex, Slash, Smut, Thorin Feels, Thorinduil - Freeform, Thrandorin, Thranduil POV, the line of durin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 03:03:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3962011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluehawthorn/pseuds/bluehawthorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Lonely Mountain is attacked. Thorin and Thranduil, now bonded as lovers for over a century, combine their forces to turn back their enemies. Thorin is gravely wounded and  Thranduil waits at his side through the night willing him to live and remembering all the things that brought them to this moment. Will the two kings find a happy ending together?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A String of Moments

**Author's Note:**

> This AU-under-the-influence-of-Thorinduil begins with An Initiation, the first installment of the Lessons in Kingship series. This will probably (hopefully) make a lot more sense if you start there.

The battle is over and Thranduil is in one of the healing tents that have been set up outside the gates of Erebor. At his request this one has been dedicated solely to Thorin.

The tents were brought from Mirkwood, as were the healers and their medicines. In the rush of the battle and its aftermath, his people were unable to bring cots, so until the dwarves can fetch bedding from the mountain, Thorin is laid on furs spread over the ground with his head in Thranduil’s lap.

His injury is severe enough that the healers are giving no promises that he will live. They believe that if he makes it through the night there will be reason to hope. 

For now, Thorin lies in a drugged sleep, his breath laboured. Thranduil feels weary and heartsick. Scenes from the last few days play through his head.

_First, there was Mithrandir’s warning. An army coming from Dol Goldur. From within Mirkwood. This growing malice that he had been wilfully ignoring, now seething across the land to try and claim the Lonely Mountain._

 _He and Thorin turned to each other, a look of understanding passing between them. They would combine the strength of their people to repel this threat._

_He sent the fastest rider to summon his army. A raven lifted into the air from Thorin’s hands, bearing a message for Dain and the dwarves of the Iron Hills._

The night was filled with feverish preparations, flashes of which flicker through his mind.

_The company in the old armoury, dressing themselves for battle. Thorin giving the hobbit a shirt of mithril in exchange for his finding of the Arkenstone, both gifts of value beyond reckoning and the warmth of their friendship in evidence._

_Bard gathering his men, ragged and desperate but willing to fight. The elves of Mirkwood arriving at dawn and standing at the ready._

All of these memories are scattered and brief, but then there was this, a moment that is scorched into his memory, vivid and bright:

He and Thorin had stood side by side on the ramparts of Erebor, dressed in their amour in the morning light. Despite the stakes at hand, he had been unable to help drinking in the sight of Thorin in the splendour of his battle-readiness. His cheeks had been flushed, his eyes glinting and his shoulders square, his hair moving about his face in the wind. He was breathtaking; the ultimate embodiment of a warrior and king. 

Thranduil knew then that he had grown to actually love this indomitable, infuriating dwarf. It was both a lovely realization and something very hard to bear. Thorin had set him free but had also bound him in the most inexorable of chains.

He smiles bittersweetly, looking down at Thorin’s bruised and bloodied face, bending over him as though his body might somehow offer shelter. But it is too late for that. And so he remembers.

 _Thranduil left the dwarves to walk among his soldiers. He spoke to his captains and ensured that everything was in place._

_Then came the waiting; the seemingly endless waiting, not knowing from where the attack would come but only that it would. The air had been thick with tension, as though they were all holding their breath._

_After what seemed like hours, at last Thorin was next to him again outside the gates, their hands finding each other for a last moment of connection as the great earth eaters burst through the mountains and the army of Azog spilled out of the holes they made._

_They parted ways with a long last look, Thranduil to mount his elk and command his army and Thorin to meet Dain as he descended the slope toward them, arrived just in time. So much was communicated in that last glance, chief amongst them an urgent hope to see each other alive again, unharmed and victorious._

And then war had been upon them. 

_The dwarves formed a barricade of shields and spears, and a company of his men leapt over them in their golden armour, swords drawn in the sunlight. Arrows arced and fell._

_From the vantage point of his steed, he saw Thorin charging forward with Kili and Fili at his sides, crying fiercely in Khudzul. His company, Dain and five hundred dwarf warriors followed behind them._

_Thranduil shouted commands in Sindarin, both of his swords cutting and slashing as he rode through the great tide of orc flesh. All around the war-beasts rampaged through, trampling dwarves and elves and men alike and eventually ramming through the walls of Dale._

_There were so many of them. He needed perspective, to see the field from somewhere higher. He rode into the ruins of the old city, beheading a line of orcs caught in his steed's antlers as he entered the gates. Then his elk was pierced with arrows and fell, tossing him to the ground._

Thorin stirs, groaning, and Thranduil is pulled back to the present. He runs his hands over the sides of Thorin’s face, whispering, “Be still. Rest. My healers have done everything they can. You are strong. You will make it through this. We won Thorin. We turned them back.” Thorin settles again, falling into the heavy sleep of the elven healing draught he was given. 

Thranduil continues to sift through memories, trying to process all that has happened to bring them to this moment.

 _He was fighting on foot now, orcs dying on his blades._

_Around him the bodies of elves were scattered over the ground into which they had spilled their lifeblood. His heart clenched to see the waste of it and he could feel the old compulsion to protect his own people above all others returning. The cost of war to elfkind, who otherwise might live forever, was unconscionably high. For a moment he thought of recalling his warriors and taking them to safety._

_But then there was a lull in the fighting and Legolas and Tauriel appeared on horseback. He had just enough time to embrace his son and absorb the fact that he was safe before Legolas broke word that a second force of orcs was marching on them from Gundabad. They were led by Bolg and coming from the north._

_Mithrandir looked stricken. Thorin, with his nephews and Dwalin, one of his best warriors, had gone north to Ravenhill to kill Azog._

_Thranduil looked urgently to Legolas and Tauriel. “Go. Warn the dwarves. I will put one of my generals in command and follow.” He and Mithrandir shared a glance, Mithrandir nodding once solemnly as though entrusting him with something gravely important. He nodded back and turned away._

_Getting to Ravenhill was painfully slow. The Gundabad bats filled the air, swooping down from above as the goblins continued their onslaught on the ground. He fought his way to the mountain and up it, bodies trailing behind him._

_When he finally reached the crest of the hill, he found Tauriel fighting side by side with Thorin’s nephews. They had Bolg cornered and the huge orc was defending itself viciously and with a cunning rarely seen in his kind. He surely would have won had any of them been fighting alone, but together they seemed to have him in hand._

_Legolas and Dwalin were holding the other orcs at bay as they continued to stream in from the north, both of them bringing down one after another with sword and axe. Even the hobbit was there, dispatching goblins with the fatally accurate stone throws the halflings were known for._

_Thranduil allowed himself a moment of relief, to see his son and Tauriel fighting alongside those closest to Thorin. They had obviously reached the dwarves in time to warn them of the trap that awaited them on the hill. And now here they were, a formidable, deadly grace in the battle styles and skills of their two races combined._

_Legolas sensed his presence, turning, and Thranduil shouted “Where is Thorin?”_

_Legolas shook his head and broke away from Dwalin, who continued slaughtering orcs, his face twisted in a fierce grimace and his axe falling with practiced efficiency and strength. Thranduil could tell that it pained him not to follow them to look for his king, but that he also knew where he was needed most._

_He and his son jogged side by side to the edge of the ice, looking for Thorin. And there he was, surrounded by enemies, Orcrist shining in his hand._

_With one last look shared between them, Legolas leapt to grasp the feet of a bat and was carried into the air. He rode to the top of a high tower where he thinned out the orcs below with his bow until his quiver lay empty._

_Thranduil began moving swiftly towards Thorin, orcs again all around him. These ones were larger and harder to kill than the forces below, but one by one they fell._

_Soon Thorin and Thranduil were fighting near each other, their efforts growing coordinated. Together they were nearly unstoppable and it looked like the ice would soon be clear of foes and they would be free to rejoin their kin._

_Then Thranduil felt Thorin still behind him. He ran the orc he was fighting through and had just enough time to turn and see what Thorin saw - Azog, glaring back at Thorin, his pale face full of silent malevolence - before three more were on him._

_In between blows he could glimpse Thorin striding with a dangerous calm towards his greatest enemy. Thranduil screamed after him, but it was no use._

_Thranduil was surrounded and could not follow. He felt a surge of helplessness that swiftly turned to an anger so immense that he could have used it to raze a fortress. Instead, he channeled his wrath into killing more orcs._

_He could feel when Thorin and Azog began to fight. Azog’s huge mace smashed down over and over, each impact shuddering through the ice, which he could hear cracking and breaking all around them._

_And then suddenly there was the beating of great wings. The Eagles glided past them towards the army in the north, bearing the Skinchanger and the Brown Wizard. Thranduil looked up at them for a moment, the ground around him littered with dead goblins._

_Then he turned back to Thorin, watching him pick up Azog’s mace and throw it so that the beast caught it out of instinct. Thorin stepped back off the sheet of broken ice they were standing on and it tipped under Azog’s weight. Thorin’s enemy fell and slipped into the water below._

_Thranduil's body sagged with relief. His breath was heaving in his chest. Thorin looked over and they made eye contact across the distance between them. They both moved to cross it to each other, but then Thorin bent his head, concern spreading across his face._

_He walked slowly, looking down and suddenly understanding, Thranduil began running towards him. Before he could reach him, Azog’s blade came up through the ice, piercing Thorin through his foot. He cried out in pain, and then Azog was exploding up from below the ice and Thorin fell hard onto his back._

_Thranduil could not get close to them. The ice was broken all around and he knew he could not swim in his armour. If he fell in he would surely drown._

_Thorin was pinned, holding Azog’s blade from his chest with his own. Thorin looked over at Thranduil for just a few seconds and there was a sadness and resignation in his eyes. Thranduil could tell in that brief moment that he had decided to sacrifice himself._

_Thranduil heard his own voice ripped from his chest, yelling “No!”_

_He ran and launched himself, barely clearing the distance. His body collided with Azog just as the orc’s blade was freed from the resistance of Orcrist. Thranduil had felt it sink into Thorin's flesh before Azog was carried aside by his momentum._

_Thranduil could not see how badly Thorin was wounded and now his own life was in peril. He and Azog were skidding across the ice, barely missing the open water around them._

_The two of them grappled on the ground and weaponless he was no match for the beast's strength or ruthlessness. He began to think that he may not survive this._

_But then there was Thorin, standing over them._

_He reached down and grabbed Azog by the back of his armour and threw him off Thranduil onto his back. With one great motion he lifted Orcrist and pierced Azog through the chest, throwing his full weight behind the thrust until the blade went straight through him and into the ice below._

_Life left the orc in a long rattling exhale._

_Only then did Thorin stumble from the severity of his wounds. Thranduil rushed to his feet. "Thorin?" Thorin mumbled his name with a weak smile and collapsed against Thranduil._

_"Stay with me. We will get you help.” Thorin’s eyes had closed and fear filled him. “No. Thorin. Do not give up.” He looked up, shouting, “Help us!”_

_He could see more orcs coming towards them and did not want to leave Thorin's side to kill them. “Legolas! Tauriel!”_

_Fili and then Kili and Tauriel came running from the hill. Fili and Kili rushed to their uncle’s side, who now lay unconscious in Thranduil’s arms. Seeing him still alive, the two dwarves turned to face the orcs that were now almost upon them._

_Tauriel joined him in applying pressure to Thorin’s wound and together they spoke healing prayers over him, both of them radiating white light as they poured their energy into Thorin to keep him alive. It was all they could do._

_Legolas joined them and Fili and Kili returned. Together they brought Thorin back to where his wounds could be properly tended._

The enemy's forces had been scattered and leaderless by that point, the tide of the battle turned. Thranduil, Legolas and Tauriel had cut a path through the remnants of fighting, through which Kili and Fili carefully bore their uncle towards Erebor. 

Thranduil remembers the healers rushing toward him as he barked orders. Thorin was taken from his sister-sons and lain on the ground. He had lost so much blood. Azog's blade had sunk far into his side, although less deeply and in perhaps a less lethal place than it would have had Thranduil not knocked the massive orc away.

Thorin stirs again, opening his eyes with what looks like great effort. “Thranduil?” he asks, his voice gravelly and broken. 

Thranduil gently smooths the hair from his forehead and looks down with a small smile. “I am here. Do not try to move. You have been injured and need to rest." He stops Thorin from speaking, anticipating his questions. "Everyone is safe. The battle has been won. Rest now, King Under the Mountain.”

Thorin smiles and closes his eyes. He slips almost immediately back into sleep and Thranduil is glad that his presence allows Thorin this comfort. Were he not there to offer reassurances-and continually dribble healing draught between his lips- Thranduil is sure Thorin would be struggling to see his people no matter the severity of his wounds. The stubbornness of dwarves kills them as often as anything else.

Thranduil sighs deeply and settles in to continue his vigil at Thorin's side all through the long night.

Eventually Fili and Kili return, their faces drawn with worry, and stay for a time before they must leave again to see to things outside. They promise to have a bed sent and it arrives shortly after. Thorin is laid out on it, still asleep. Thranduil curls up next to him, watching the dwarf’s chest rising and falling slowly with every breath.

Eventually, what seems like an eternity passes and dawn finally arrives. Thorin is still alive. Thranduil feels scraped raw and tired in a way that is usually unknown to him. But he also begins to feel hope again. He leans over and kisses Thorin tenderly on his forehead, and calls for the healers.

**********

Time passes. Seasons change and Thorin has made a full recovery, bewildering everyone except Thranduil, who knows Thorin's strength and is not truly surprised. Only grateful.

And now, in the long dark of midwinter nights when there is a lingering chill deep inside the mountain, they lie together under the furs on Thorin's bed and draw long shuddering trails of pleasure out of one another. They move against each other until they are sheened with sweat, until they are lost and trembling in it, until it is almost as though tendrils of light are unfurling off them like steam rising from the forest floor with the first contact of morning sun.

Or Thorin comes to Mirkwood, where they soak in Thranduil's bathing pools, drink the best wine in his cellars and fuck each other for hours. 

Neither of them tires of the other, nor tires much in general. They have survived great trials to come to this time of peace and plenty and although Thorin sometimes needs persuading to take time away from the rebuilding of Erebor, Thranduil can usually convince him to slip away as night falls or for a few days spent beneath the great trees of his own kingdom.

Thranduil no longer thought himself capable of these kinds of feelings, never mind for a dwarf, king or no. But Thorin has made him feel unexpected things since that first night when he came to him bearing the white gems and a burden of desire Thranduil could see written all over his face. 

He was barely more than an adolescent then, but now...now he is a king that will be remembered through all of the ages until the world lies broken. One who has reminded Thranduil how to wear his own kingship with renewed commitment and passion. 

He may have awoken something in Thorin well over a century ago, but now Thorin has awakened him in turn, and in more ways than one. Just his proximity makes Thranduil feel more alive than he has in a very long time. 

Thranduil has learned that the shorter lives of dwarves seem to concentrate all the intensity of living to a fever pitch, especially in Thorin, who burns like the light of a thousand stars, just as his hands and mouth and the inside of his flesh burn against Thranduil's skin.

Thranduil is proud to be his consort - a thing that has not yet been made official but is also no longer hidden. Both of their peoples seem to see the benefit in it, and certainly they are stronger rulers for having one anothers' confidence and council. Regardless, he and Thorin have their heirs already and so there is no harm in it.

When they are not taking pleasure in each other, they also speak of many things. Often their attention returns to the stirring of the very old enemy that has returned, and what may be to come. They plan how to combine their might once again to counteract the growing evil that plagues their world. 

For now this shadow hangs over them but has not yet made itself fully known, and so they still have time to explore the new connection being shaped between them. And Thranduil wonders if any darkness, even one that stole so much from him before, will be enough to make him fearful again with Thorin at his side.

**********

Theirs is not the only affair blossoming across the borders of Mirkwood and Erebor. Kili and Tauriel have found their way to each other and are delightful to watch in their youthful discovery of love. They are playful together, often teasing one another and stealing kisses and caresses whenever they think that no one is looking.

But like every joyful thing there is a counterweight of sorrow. Legolas came to Thranduil shortly after the battle seeking his leave. Although it pained him to see his son hurting, Thranduil counselled him to be patient. Kili may be long-lived for a mortal, but Tauriel and Legolas are likely to outlive him by countless centuries and there may be hope for them yet. 

Certainly Thranduil has learned that more than one love is possible in an immortal life, although they are rare and each one likely to be radically different from the other. And whereas once he would have forbidden his son to pledge himself to a Silvan elf like Tauriel, he no longer wishes to stand in the way of any love.

For now, Thranduil has sent Legolas to find a man who may have a very important part to play in the upcoming war they all face. Thranduil has foreseen that although it will take time, time in which Legolas will find his true strength, there may be a crownless king in his future as well. He believes that if his vision is correct, there will be a love between them too and through that love Legolas may help to shape the future for the better of them all. 

He has always felt that Legolas was meant for a great destiny. It used to frighten him. He knows well the burden of a powerful fate and has wanted to protect his son.

He now knows however, that true protection is sometimes better found in engaging the world rather than withdrawing from it. He will hide no longer, nor will he seek to shelter his son from the pull of great and terrible happenings. This dark tide is coming regardless of his wishes, and it will take all of them working together to turn it back.

************

Months go by and they are busy and happy ones. One early evening as the first true warmth of late spring can be felt in the air, Thorin arrives in Mirkwood. 

Thranduil meets him in the gardens near his fortress, as they have planned. They dismiss their guards, who fan out into the woods around them to make sure that they are safe but leave them to their privacy.

The hawthorn trees are in bloom and Thranduil has chosen a spot beneath the overarching branches of a particularly beautiful one. The air is filled with the scent of blossoms and the sound of beesong. The ground is scattered with white petals and a large red blanket has been spread for them to lie on. 

Wine and a selection of Mirkwood’s finest delicacies have also been laid out for them. They dine and drink and lie together in the open air.

Eventually Thranduil climbs atop Thorin where he reclines against the trunk of the maytree under which they lie. He feeds Thorin small wild strawberries from his hands. Thorin sucks the juice of them from Thranduil's fingers and it stains his lips a darker red. 

They look at each other, holding eye contact as Thranduil slowly removes Thorin's jacket and tunic, baring his chest. With his long recovery, Thorin has lost some of his strength but he is still broad and well muscled. Thranduil never tires of seeing him like this.

He runs his hands down over Thorin's powerful chest and stomach, and back up again, watching the path of his own hands, taking in the beauty of his lover’s form under them. His fingertips find their way to the scar along Thorin's side, now fully healed, and linger there. 

"I almost lost you." He can hear that his own voice is filled with pain. 

Thorin reaches up and cups the side of his face. "Hush. I am right here. I am not going anywhere for a very long time." He takes Thranduil's hands and presses them against his collarbones, over his heart. "Feel me. Solid and real and alive as can be." Thranduil nods and releases these dark thoughts in favour of the golden light of the present. 

His hands curve over Thorin’s neck and up to his jaw. He draws his thumb over Thorin’s bottom lip and then leans down to kiss him, lazy and deep and slow. They take their time with each other, because now they can.

Thorin winds his fingers through Thranduil’s hair. Then he runs his hands down the length of Thranduil's back, pressing their bodies close. Like he always does, Thranduil becomes fluid under Thorin's touch, a sinuous and sensual creature, as though he were young again. This is another of Thorin's gifts to him.

Thorin groans and pushes the hardness of his cock against Thranduil, who pushes back. Thorin begins to undress him and once he is naked he pulls off Thorin's trousers so that they are bare to each other. 

He moves to straddle Thorin again, who looks up at him, desire gleaming in his grey-blue eyes. His fingers trace over the lean lines of Thranduil's torso and down to encircle both of their cocks together, rubbing them against each other firmly with both palms. It feels exquisite and excruciating, like almost everything Thorin does to him. 

Thranduil arches back, his mouth opening and his hair falling loose around his shoulders. Thorin's voice is husky and impossibly low in response. "Mahal, you are so beautiful. Tell me you are mine."

Thranduil smiles. "I am yours, King Under the Mountain." He tilts his head and looks coy. "You are free to mark me as such if you will." Thranduil leans forward and offers his neck up to Thorin's mouth. 

Thorin wraps his hand around the back of Thranduil's head and his other moves, fingertips drawn slowly and hard enough to leave marks there too, down his spine. He bites and sucks at Thranduil's throat, his thighs moving up to hem Thranduil in tightly on either side.

Thorin moves his attentions to Thranduil's ears and it sends spikes of arousal right through him until his cock grows achingly full and heavy and he is moaning and writhing in his lover's grasp. Thorin teases and torments him with tongue and teeth until Thranduil's breath comes in sobs and he is desperate and flushed with lust.

Thorin releases him, smirking gently with satisfaction at his ability to drive Thranduil's need. But then he kisses Thranduil softly, his mischief gone, and Thranduil shakes his head in mirth. He takes a deep shaking breath, reminding himself to savour the moment and make it last. There is no longer any rush. 

Their pace slows again and for a time they simply revel in the feeling of skin on skin, Thranduil moving his body over Thorin's and Thorin caressing Thranduil's, his hands warm and dry and firm in their touch.

A raven comes to land in the tree above them, looking at them inquisitively. Its head cocks to one side as though it is curious and wondering at finding two kings of such different kingdoms pleasuring each other in the forest.

Thranduil smiles. The coupling of two kings. Yes, he supposes it is a surprising and singular thing, he and Thorin together. He has had the luxury of getting used to their connection, and has forgotten how strange it must seem to some and once was even to himself.

He returns his focus to Thorin, who he sees is also looking up at the raven with a small smile. They begin to move against each other again. His cock rubs into Thorin’s thigh and Thorin’s into Thranduil’s stomach. They ride against each other, hips rolling long and languid.

Soon Thorin is kissing him hungrily. Thranduil is gasping into Thorin's mouth, trembling with the friction of their movements and how it builds and builds in him, cresting towards release. Thorin closes his eyes, breathes “Yes,” and pulls Thranduil closer.

Both of their muscles are working now, flexing and tensing, their breath matching in pace and depth. A few more timeless minutes of this and then Thorin is growling deep in his throat and rutting up hard against him. 

In one swift, powerful movement Thorin rolls them over so that he is on top of Thranduil. And then Thorin is grinding his hips against him urgently and pressing him down into the ground. Thranduil can feel how close his lover is and wraps his arms and legs around him, increasing the pressure between their bodies even more.

Thorin dips his head down to rest their foreheads together for a moment as he pins Thranduil under his weight, their hips moving in tandem. He then flips them over without breaking their rhythm so that Thranduil is back on top of him again.

Taking cue from the other, they surrender themselves to climax at the same time and it is like the wreckage of everything untrue or trivial, the setting on fire of every small thing not worth spending their lives on in the flames of reckoning and revelation that have brought them to this moment. 

The sounds each of them make spill hot into the other's mouth just as the heat of their seed bursts against the other's skin. Sensation throbs through Thranduil and he clings to Thorin, his body a solid thing tethering Thranduil to the earth while the force of his climax takes him. It washes through him with such power that he loses sense of where his body ends and the world around him begins. 

He can feel the forest breathing, the sap rising up through the trees, their roots moving through the soil, the sky stretching endlessly over it all. Such is the magic of their joining and what it has reawakened in Thranduil.

The feeling slowly begins to subside and they relax into each other, breathing heavy. Thorin reaches up to pull him down into another long languorous kiss, smiling when Thranduil's body pulses subtly with the aftershocks of orgasm.

The sky turns the radiant blue of dusk, and the stars begin appearing overhead. Thranduil lies with his head in the crook of Thorin's shoulder. A chill comes into the air but neither of them moves to put on any clothing. Thorin’s cloak is spread over them for warmth and neither of them is bothered much by the cold. 

Thorin is stroking his fingers back and forth over Thranduil’s bicep. He sighs contentedly and it is the sweetest sound in Thranduil’s ears. A quiet happiness wells up in him.

Thranduil has the sudden thought that this could be what their lives are like from this day on. Some old sadness unfurls inside him and takes wing. His heart feels less burdened than it has in a long march of centuries.

This. This could be theirs. New sadnesses would come, evil would grow and wane, enemies would strike and be defeated, grief would find them. But this would also be there. From now until the end of Thorin's life, this joy would belong to them, a bright place in the endless stretch of Thranduil's immortality.

He finds himself looking up and smiling at Thorin, easy and fond. Thorin smiles back, his eyes crinkling. It is just a moment in a string of moments, surrounded by troubles and loss. But it is their moment. And it is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> The characters, settings and plot of the Hobbit do not belong to me. 
> 
> Comments welcomed and much appreciated.
> 
> I think this story may bring the Lessons in Kingship series to completion. Thank you to everyone who encouraged me to keep with it - these stories have been immensely enjoyable but also at times challenging to write, and your comments have sustained and supported me throughout the process.


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